I was wearing my favorite dangly earrings that looked like a tiny model of the solar system with only 3 planets. I had a three-quarter sleeved top that showed off my breasts that were small and yet seemed to fit my frame. I heard loud voices behind me and turned to see what the commotion was about and saw my mother and sisters coming toward me, shouting and pointing at me. I covered my face and yelled nooooooo.

---

 
 
Part 1

I was floating. At least in my bunk and only as far as the restraining sheet would allow. I suppose that the transport was in between powered flight and docked at the end of the sky bridge. I should have been asleep but the dream that visits me whenever I am fearful, uncertain, looking into the abyss or otherwise about to set out on a journey to into the unknown had launched me from sleep to wide awake in an instant. I was in line at some sort of small eatery. I looked at my reflection in the mirror behind the counter and was pleased. My short-ish, boy-ish hair had a single curl that outlined my right eye. My makeup was a retro-look with deep red lips and well defined eyes. I was wearing my favorite dangly earrings that looked a tiny model of the solar system with only 3 planets. I had a three-quarter sleeved top that showed off my breasts that were small and yet seemed to fit my frame. I was wondering why my order was taking so long. I heard loud voices behind me and turned to see what the commotion was about and saw my mother and sisters coming toward me, shouting and pointing at me. I covered my face and yelled nooooooo.

I always wake up at the same place, just when my family confronts me with questions about why I look like a girl, what is wrong with me? Don’t I know how this looks? Don’t I know what people will say? What it will do to the family?

That’s when I run from sleep. I fussed around my compartment and organized my things. I put them, as per the instructions on the hard cases, in the indicated slots, shut the bags and re-checked the nametags. Evans, W. L./ T.I./ B.I. 2051/ Co. D./ Camp Lang. At 05:30 ship time the vid-panel on the compartment door lit up and announced “Recruit Evans stand by to debark. Follow the color coded guide lights to the coach for descent to the surface.” It was time to take the final steps from the civilian rat-race to the life-and-death business of being a bottom rung member of the Federation Space Forces on Smithson. I ‘knew’ what I was getting into, at least at the level of an outsider but I was about to find out the on-the-ground reality. I was willingly going to subject myself to the tests and trials that I hopped would let me find out just who I was and what I could be. Looking back, I really had no idea just how much I would learn about who I am and what I could do.

Hurry up and wait. I think I read or heard somewhere that this is the most fundamental, most common part of every military since the formation of first company of cavemen. It has not changed. We waited in the couches in the lounge as we slid down the carbon cable from orbit to the surface. We waited for transport to the base. We waited in the auditorium until the officers came in and told us what we were going to do today and for the next year. It turns out that I cherish waiting, now I long for a few minutes of down time. Who knew?

Funny enough, the first thing the FSF wanted to know was just who I was, what I knew and what I could do. I hoped that in the process I might find out too. First came the demographics. I found myself standing in only my skin in a cylinder being scanned and measured: Recruit Trooper William Lee Evans, 60 Kg, 190 Cm (130lb/6’3”). I looked at the ghost of my reflection in the walls of the cylinder. I looked even thinner than I was in a mirror; more like my mental body image. My male parts were so small and had retreated so much due to the chilly temperature as to be missing altogether. No wonder I had an identity problem. Every night in assessment center the Dream was a frequent visitor. I was glad to have a room to myself.

I found that I was medically in good shape. I found out (already knew) that I was more emotive, creative and intuitive than 90% of the human male population. I found that I was only as strong as the weakest 10% of the human male population (I already suspected this). The test revealed that I could learn and come to grips with difficult and unusual concepts, although I thought my early education assessments would have shown that.

The psychological inventories and interviews were exhausting. Of course the game is to only show those traits and tendencies that put you in the best possible light (really, I’m not crazy or a psychopath) and their task is to see through the obfuscations. All I could hope was that I didn’t come out looking like two people.

After 20 days of this analysis apparently I was deemed useful to the FSF and given a seat on an atmospheric transport to Camp Cynthia Ling, a small piece of hell on Smithson.

 

*          *          *
 
My sister Cho and I were at a park near our home in mid summer. I was in my mid teens and she was going to go off to university in the fall. We had been coming to exercise using the circuit training stops as well as running laps on the trails and walkways through the park. I was face down on the ground stretching when from behind me I heard an obnoxious snarl.

“What is it? It doesn’t have big boobs but it looks like a girl!” came from a boy who was talking to his pack of three thugs who laughed and pushed and punched each other in the arm. ”She’s got a nice body and really long legs. I think she wants it doggy style” he said.

I ignored him. I kept my head still as I swept what I could see with my eyes looking for the best direction to get away. If I could get a few steps on them I thought I could get away.

“I wonder if it’s a deaf mute? I wonder if it just needs some of this?” he said as he grabbed his crotch.

I pulled my feet under my knees, grabbed a couple of hands-full of dirt and got ready to run.

“Is there a problem miss?” asked a voice from someone I couldn’t see.

“I hope not” was all I could say and turned around to find a Municipal Peacekeeper and Cho standing behind the thugs.

“Why don’t you fellows move on to somewhere other than the park?” suggested the peacekeeper.

“Thank you officer,” said my sister. “I saw those four watching us the last time we ran through this part of the trail.”

We finished our workout and as we walked home I said “I’m sure glad the officer stopped those jerks before they got a chance to do anything.”

“I saw them coming our way and while you were working on the bars, I went looking for a peacekeeper and luckily found one coming into the park” said Cho.

“Do I look like a girl?” I asked

“Well, with your hair in a pony tail and those loose sweats, you do look more girlish than guyish. But for you I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” she said

“What do you mean? I’m a guy aren’t I?” I said

“Yes, but I think inside there’s a lot of girl in you,” said Cho.

I didn’t say anything in response, just thought back on our days when we were all girls together playing in our yard.

Did really want to be a girl? Was I unhappy being a boy? I couldn’t work out my feelings in answer to my question. I did envy my sisters curvy bodies; mine was like a stick figure. I found the parts hanging between my legs a bother, except when I gave my self pleasure, but my sisters could do that too and didn’t have thing flopping around where they could get hurt.

I realized several things that day. I had to pay attention to my surroundings or I could be seriously injured. I didn’t want to turn into a typical ego-on-legs male and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be a woman but I was more attracted to them than to guys. I might be somewhat sexually attracted to guys.

Maybe if I went out into the universe and pushed myself I would find out who and what I really am.

Be careful what you wish for.

 

*          *          *
 
I was the third child in my family. I have two sisters: Cho, +3 years and Zoey, +6 years older. They were sufficiently older so that I was more of a play-toy than a playmate. They were happy to have a live, live-in dress-up doll. I was happy to be dressed just like they were. Cho and Zoey called me Lee because they said that William was too boyish when I was dressed in a smock or sundress. Mom didn’t seem to mind, but she was busy at work in her studio and didn’t care what we did as long as we didn’t interrupt her. Father was a donor with promising genetic markers.

I was heartbroken when mom made me stop wearing my girls clothes when I went out of the house. She told me that other people would get mad at me for not looking and acting like a boy should. It is interesting how a few words from someone you love and look up to for guidance and protection can affect your life.

Our “house” on base held 40 troops: 22 females and 18 males. I had never seen so many geeky, skinny people in one place. It was like all of the guys leftover from a dozen pick-up flag-tag games decided to show up in one place. The funny thing to me at the time was that all of us, male and female, were of similar body type. Another thing was that there wasn’t the male-female tension that you might expect when so many bodies share minimalist living conditions. After the first week we all had seen plenty of each other in our underwear and believe me there wasn’t much to see. The largest breast was a modest B cup. The largest “package” could have been mailed in a small manila envelope.

We were all from human settlements: Earth, Mars, Luna, New Hope, Stewart, Persia and the Lagrange habitats from several systems. All of us came from near 1G planets so there wasn’t much difference in our nascent physical abilities. The drill instructors set about changing that. We ran and walked and ran and swam and ran and pushed-up and ran and pulled-up and ran and slithered and ran and crawled and ran. I have never before or since expended so much energy, consumed so many calories and physically changed so little.

Next we entered close confinement conditioning (CCC) A.K.A. the tubes. We thought we were turning into human hamsters because we spent so many hours crawling through tubes of varying sizes from those that you could walk in to those that you had to inch-worm through with your arms stretched out like you were diving into a pool. To make things more interesting, as we became faster (hamsters?) humsters, the tubes became mazes and we had to get through them in groups rather that as individuals. About the time you felt you got the hang of things, “variations” were introduced: blinding light to total darkness; cold that went from freezing to 1st degree burns; 0G to 3G oriented apparently randomly. This was not a place for the claustrophobic. We lost five of our number due to the tubes.

Of course we were not physically ready for these types of activities. At first I thought the pain would kill me outright. That’s when I really got to know my bunkmates. Sean claimed that he had been through some of this before and assured me that I would survive (I ha’m’doots). Suaad passed out vitamin C and herbal creams that revived us for another day. Surviving suffering builds trust and friendships and we begin to tell and listen to each other’s stories. Also the phrase you rub my back and I’ll rub your became a reality. It went beyond message therapy for the pain, knots and cramps. Being gently stroked, rubbed, caressed and brushed does wonders for the psyche. It kept me going when I wanted to run away — how could I do that to Suaad or Sean, they were depending on me as I depended on both of them.

One night just after lights-out, Suaad whispered: “Lee are you awake?”

“Yes, I hurt too much to get comfortable,” I whispered back.

“Would you rub out the knots in my back and legs? I’ll return the favor,” she whispered.

I slid out of my bunk and knelt down next to her bed.

“Do you have any thing to rub into your muscles?” I asked.

“Here, use this. I’ve been holding the tube next to me to warm up,” she said.

I squeezed some into my hand and then reached under her coverlet to start on her shoulders and back. I kneaded her shoulders and up and down her spine paying attention to her soft grunts and intake of breath.

“Now work on my legs,” she whispered.

I started with her butt and worked down to her feet and was rewarded with “Mmmms” of pleasure. I didn’t think anything of not finding any clothing getting in the way of my massage. After about 30 minutes of this I had rubbed her for top to toe.

“Get out of your shorts and lay on your front,” she said,

I did and she returned the favor. I somehow ended up in Suaad’s pants, I mean her underwear and she in mine. We both had SEGs (Sh.. Eating Grins) the next morning as we exchanged garments. I enjoyed sleeping in her panties, it reminded of childhood joys.

 

*          *          *
 
Sean Gunn was a “wee stick” of a lad who was 10 Cm shorter than me and 2 Cm shorter than Suaad. He was more like the caber than the highlander who tosses it. He said he was yet one more in a very long line of Gunns who made the military their vocation, going all the way back to the highlanders in Earth’s history (or so he claimed). Suaad was from Persia and was in the FSF so she could have a clean break from the repressive culture that had been transplanted and distilled on Persia from the middle east of Earth.

The hours when we weren’t doing PT, we were learning the rules, regulations, customs and history of the FSF and the Earth-based military that was its precursor. Oh yea, there was a lot of time learning-by-doing on how to make everything FSF clean and in FSF shape. It wasn’t enough to keep your own gear in FSF shape you had to keep an eye on every thing. The Drill Instructors went out of their way to find any reason to add extra PT or cleaning to everyone to drive home the message that we had to work together and figure a way to get everyone to pull together as well as pull their weight.

We started weapons training the second week, both armed and unarmed, with low and high tech tools to kill and maim. I wished that I had known some of the simpler unarmed techniques when I was in my early teens when I was the subject of guys who seemed to be looking for someone to use as contrast to prove their manhood. The contrast between the ancient hand-to-hand techniques and the super high tech smart weapon made for mental whiplash. Sean was 2nd best shooter and Suaad was tops in unarmed techniques. It turns out I have an affinity to edged weapons and sticks. We had 3 more dropouts who didn’t meet the minimum qualifications for weapons and unarmed combat.

We didn’t have any badass drill instructors all through boot training. We did have exacting taskmasters. They were effective at getting us to do what they wanted and only rarely had to raise their voice. We learned early on that happy, or at least not displeased sergeants, meant more time to recover from the extreme physical exertions.

I wasn’t visited by the Dream, I didn’t recall dreaming at all during the whole of boot camp.

D company, 2051 Instructional Battalion graduated 32 Troopers. Eight of our members left on their own or were injured and sent back into the training battalion. The rest of us were sent to specialization schools to learn how to use and maintain heavy weapons, communications, surveillance and field medical systems. The idea is that everyone should be qualified to operate at least two systems.
 

---

 
To Be Continued...